Erdbeeren mit dir sind immer bitter
by Kita Kitsune
Summary: Was habe ich gesagt? Ich will dich sehen. Warum bist du nie hier? Liebe ich dich noch? . What have I said? I want to see you. Why are you never here? Do I still love you? : Oneshot Gakuen-esque AU, FrUK : Short, odd writing style, boy love/BL


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

_Summary: Was habe ich gesagt? Ich will dich sehen. Warum bist du nie hier? Liebe ich dich noch? (What have I said? I want to see you. Why are you never here? Do I still love you?)  
_

Title: Erdbeeren mit dir sind immer bitter  
Word Count: 842  
Page Count: 1  
Anime: Hetalia  
Pairing(s) in this chapter: England/France  
Warning: Odd writing style, bittersweet romance  
Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)  
Date: Saturday, February 5, 2011  
Miscellaneous notes: iGoogle the title, or something. I don't care if it's not in French. Not everything FrUK has to be titled in French or English all the time, geez... (And no, I did not look that phrase up like a poser-nerd. I made it up. Creative writing, and all that, you know?)

[ Yeah, sorry. Been having a nasty week, month, life (lately) - whatever. Wrote this about a week ago (on Sunday). I've been meaning to write for other things (like 'Empire' and '52nd Street'... and 'TWMCII'), but the time just keeps running away from me...

This must be the shortest thing I've ever written (under 1000 words, what...). Sorry for the writing style, I know this isn't the best I can do... but my brain was sort of fogged and half-there when I was writing it, so that might explain part of it... ]

Eh. Maybe someone out there in the interwebs will like this.

If so, I'm posting it just for you~

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The sounds of the other students mulling around in the cafeteria sank into the back of his mind. But all England could think about was the fact France was back. He reached out his hand and snagged a strawberry from France's plate, taking a small bite out of the end. He glanced up, his cheek leaned on France's shoulder where he was, to watch as the other nation cast him a huffy look, before going back to talking with Germany and (mostly) Italy on his other side.

England tried to keep France's gaze, but to no avail. Settling on a plan of action, he slowly cut the strawberry into smaller pieces with his teeth, swallowing most of it safely before leaning up and hooking an arm around the back of France's neck. The other nation jumped a little as he turned to him, startled, but England just closed his eyes and ignored the embarrassment floating in the back of his mind that the other nations were probably staring. Perhaps it was out-of-character for him, but he didn't care about that right now. It'd been too long.

Angling his head, he let their lips meet, almost instantly pushing the small amount of strawberry yet surviving in his mouth into France's own. He practically heard the sigh released against him, the parting of lips so the fruit could be shared. And then everything got a bit fuzzy, they were lost in each other in small quick kisses and an affectionate sliding of tongues until someone - probably America, by the loudness of the voice - yelled from down the table, "Get a room!" Their kissing broke off, but they remained entwined with each other - England's hand now cupping the back of France's neck, and at some point one of France's hands had snuck around his waist. Eyes half-lidded, they observed each other for a moment before breaking out into identical evil smirks.

And with that, France grabbed England's hand - about a second before England would have done so, himself - and pulled him away down the hall to France's dorm. It was blissfully without his room mate, and minutes later England would not quite be sure how they got to this point - him on the bed, France straddling his waist with his white button-up shirt all undone except for the very last button at the bottom. He didn't take the time to wonder about it, didn't even see the bare chest that any would have drooled over, because his eyes were fixed on France's face. With an odd sense of stilled time he watched France stare right back at him, watched the shoulder-length golden wavy strands frame his slightly nervous, slightly pink face.

They were both still entirely clothed, and it didn't really seem England's place to change that, so when he lifted his fingers to undo that last stubborn button, they just slipped inside the folds of the shirt to rub up-and-down over France's sides. But something nagged him in the back of his mind, something didn't feel right, with France still seated so straight, far away from him - so England shifted a little, hands climbing back out of France's shirt to grip his shoulders and pull him down a bit, and then wrap around France's neck once he was leaned forward enough that England could reach. France didn't fight it, per se, but it still annoyed England in the back of his mind that France hadn't sought to lean down, of his own accord. Regardless of these thoughts, he continued to pull France down to him until their mouths met once again.

And despite the utter silence which had reigned since they entered this room, afterwards when they were trying to calm themselves from the little bit of groin-on-groin rubbing (which was as far as they'd gotten before something in England told him to stop, because they were going too fast - because sex was something entirely different than a heavy make-out session) they'd done... In that silence, England could have sworn France lifted himself up, just enough that his breath could fan over England's cheek, gentle and warm and a little breathless with affection as he leaned to whisper in his ear - France's arms now around England's neck and England's resting around France's waist -

"Je t'aime." And something in England started to crack, as he heard that.

"Je t'aime, mon petit lapin..." And England had to turn his face away into the pillow to hide it, because hearing it made him want to cry. And it was then that he realized that breaking up with France hadn't helped anything at all, had done no good at all... because he was just as much in love with him as he'd ever been. The only difference was, now reality came crashing in as soon as he realized this. It took away any joy usually related to the realization and replaced it with the painful ache that can only come from a joint case of heartbreak and loss...


End file.
